Paris Blues

I think the four credited writers it took to adapt Harold Flender’s 1957 novel are the biggest tell that something is going to be ‘off’ with the final product. Sure enough, this one has got to be a lesser, if not the least, entry in the collaboration between director Martin Ritt and star Paul Newman. How you assemble as cast as wonderful as Newman, Joanne Woodward, Sidney Poitier, and Diahann Carroll then sack them with such a milquetoast plot is anyone’s guess. At least there’s a vibrant score from Duke Ellington and some wonderful shots of Paris to keep things interesting.

It all boils down to the story of two expat American jazz musicians (Newman, Poitier) who meet-cute with two American women on vacation (Woodward, Carroll). There’s plenty of romance and tension between whether they’ll stay and work on their musical dreams or return to the states with their new love. An element of how different black artists are treated in France versus the states is brought up before getting quickly tossed aside. How you craft a story about these elements and ignore that for a more generic tale of love and art, and the ways they’re at odds with each other or require compromise.

It's lovely to see Poitier in a romantic mode and his scenes of courtship with Carroll glow with a warmth, intimacy, and casual sensuality that is rarely seen from the screen legend. Their story is far more engaging than that of Newman and Woodward, but they’re routinely tossed to the background. Newman and Woodward’s doomed love affair overpowers the story while Newman goes through the motions of middle-brow notions of great, daring art and the sacrifices it requires, Woodward delivers one of her customary fiery performances. She burns through the clichés to craft something real and human on the screen, and it is her work that we walk away remembering the most.